


Bad Hair Day

by Arterius_Rising



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Banter, Damn rogues, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Friendship/Love, Group chat, drunk dwarf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 05:27:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11822163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arterius_Rising/pseuds/Arterius_Rising
Summary: Mahariel is frustrated one morning when she wakes to find her hair in knots. Leiliana only makes it worse with her ministrations, and so Sten steps in to lend a hand. After all, he has to have some skill from braiding his own hair all the time, hadn't he?'It was like his, in the same style - if less braids. Hers were thicker, and she couldn't exactly remember giving him any of her ties. When she held the braid closest to her, she had to pull it over her high topped ear to see the end held a small leather band which was similar to his own."Do you want these back?" She found herself saying.Sten took the braid from her fingers, looked her in the eye and said, "no," in his deep voice before placing the plat back over her ear. She did her best to hide the shiver as his fingers brushed the sensitive point.'





	Bad Hair Day

**Author's Note:**

> For the small group of Sten/Mahariel fans out there <3 
> 
> (Originally posted on FF.net. Slightly edited)

One-Shot - Bad Hair Day 

Mahariel awoke within her bed roll as she did most early mornings. As not many of the others were accustomed to using a bow, or hunting for themselves - especially Alistair, who would most likely starve without her, or end up eating the moss upon stones he was that ravenous - meant that the youngest Warden would patrol the edges of camp at night for the evening meal.

And It certainly wasn't an easy task. Filling Sten, Alistair (who had the appetite of a Warden), Zevran, Oghren and surprisingly Wynne, meant she was out in the wilderness for at least a good few hours.

Being a hunter in the clan had been far easier, if she were to remember those times, in another life. They got up just as the birds began to chirp and sing, would travel in twos or more till they got their share of the food for that day, or even a week if they were travelling through a part of land which yielded little to hunt, or scavenge.

Alistair surely ate more than a handful of her clan mates alone. Not that she was complaining. It gave the warden a chance to clear her head after the days events: good or bad.

She let these thoughts drift away as she exhaled into the crisp morning air. As she sat up quickly, not wanting to linger and fall back to sleep, Mahariel ran her hand absently through her white locks — only to come up short with a knot.

A hiss left her lips, and as she tried to dislodge the knot, all it achieved was to yank on her scalp till her eyes watered and she felt like yelling into the trees.

"Fenehidis," she cursed, followed by a few other foreign curses she'd learnt from some of the group one night when they'd had a little too much ale round the fire.

"You've got blood in your hair, my dear," Leiliana spoke up with her sing-song voice across the camp.

Mahariel shot her a look; narrowed eyes with a 'what do you mean I've got blood in my hair?' look.

"You had it there last night, when you came back with our meal and finished uh... Preparing it...," the rogue trailed off.

"Why didn't you tell me last night?!" The warden demanded, exasperated and angry.

Mahariel had thought she'd felt some blood splatter on her when she'd pulled her arrow from the hare to skin it. She'd presumed it had missed her, or else someone would have told her...

"I thought you would clean it off after you'd eaten," Leiliana tried to explain while looking sheepish, eyes big and blue; the picture of innocence. Trying to hide the guilt of knowing, and then forgetting to tell the warden when Zevran had tipped her his cup of ale to share.

Mahariel bit out a sigh, and levelled the rogue with her dark blue eyes that brooked no argument. "Help me fix it, at least."

"I will do my best," the rogue promised as Mahariel hauled herself up and moved to the log seats by the fire pit.

Leiliana moved up beside her, holding her skin of water she used when travelling. The rogue poured some of the water on the wardens short hair, causing her to shiver as it slipped along her pointed ear. Mahariel clenched her jaw as Leiliana began to run her fingers over the bloodied patch.

It hurt. The rogue seemed to be getting flustered as her hair knotted even more, and the clumps refused to move.

"I-I can not seem to do it," Leiliana leaned back, exclaiming her frustration.

Mahariel growled. "I'll do it," she took the water skin from the rogues hands and poured a little on her fingers before attempting to unknot the tangles.

Leiliana moved away when she caught on that Mahariel was in a bad mood, and the rogue was partly to do with it.

"Do you perhaps have a spell that will deal with the tangles, Wynne?" The warden heard Leiliana ask.

"I'm afraid not, dear," Wynne called, from where she was making tea. When the experienced Mage saw the warden gritting her teeth, she leant down to add some herbs to the brew. "I'll make you something to calm your nerves," she explained, and the warden only grunted in response.

Then Morrigan and Alistair decided to make an appearance, followed by Oghren who fell out of his tent. With his back on the ground, and his legs half tangled in his tent cloth, he burped to the sky.

"You'll have to cut it all off," Morrigan put in, with that smug tone which made Mahariel want to smack the witch with a stick around the head.

"Oh no!" Alistair said, sitting near her - but not close enough to be in her range. Her temper wasn't that bad, surely...

"Your hair!" He shouted. "How did that happen?"

"Someone was too busy making googly eyes to inform me that I'd got the evenings meal in my hair," the warden grumbled harshly.

"I was not!" Leiliana burst out.

"Oh, this is news to me," Zevran suddenly ducked out of his tent - looking as fresh as if he'd slept in a four poster bed.

"Thank you all for you help," she muttered, and yanked on her hair till bits snapped off.

"Don't do that," Alistair held out a hand, which he quickly return to the safety of his person when she shot him a look which meant: 'I'll bite you if you make it worse.'

"I'll piss on it for ya," Oghren offered, from where he picked his teeth on the ground with his little finger.

If Mahariel had looked murderous before, now she looked like the arch-demon its self. "No, Oghren. I don't think I'll take up that offer," her words cut the air.

"How would that even help?" The assassin looked disgusted at the dwarf, which in turn got the dwarf wound up.

"I don't see you offering any solutions!" Oghren tried to roll over to - she didn't know what, sit up? Stand up? Point a finger?

She shook her head and blocked out the lot of them. It wasn't until she really felt like cutting it all off before she stood suddenly, which caused a hush, and then walked away. Straight passed Bodan and his cart, to the lake which they sometimes camped beside when they were in the area.

Mahariel was just contemplating using the reflection of the water to shave her head with her hunting knife when a large shadow engulfed her. She looked up, half blinded by the pale sun to see Sten. His dark skin, purpled eyes and braided hair.

"Let me see," he said, and she was sure she openly stared at him, creases on her face. They were becoming a permanent fixture.

"What?" She asked, after what felt like a tense moment.

He pointed a clawed finger at her hair. "Let me see," he repeated. "Your hair."

Mahariel liked Sten. He was dangerous yes, and odd but once she had attempted to understand his culture which was vastly different from hers, she'd actually come enjoy the giants company.

He acted as if he was uncaring, refusing to answer questions but really, he liked to mess with the others, and it brought a smile to her face at times. He was smarter than people gave him credit for, and Mahariel had worked hard at understanding him simply from reading between the lines. Learning what he would say, and wouldn't say, and how he said certain things.

And so, the warden offered him her head which he could easily crush between both his huge hands. He moved the strands with his second and forefinger which were stuck out at odd ends after she'd ripped some out.

"Place your head in the water," he instructed, and moved back to watch her follow the order through.

She raised an eyebrow. "What? All the way in?"

He nodded, and that was all she was going to get. He'd help, if she did as she was told - or else he'd walk away and have his breakfast.

She let out a breath, then knelt down in the dirt and leaned over to look at her reflection in the water. When Sten knelt beside her, she almost jumped out of her skin.

It was his turn to raise an eyebrow.

"What are you going to do?" She asked, knowing he wouldn't have put up with her this long only to drown her right next to camp.

He growled in his tone, "Put your head in the water, Kadan. I thought you were better at listening to instructions."

"What gave you that idea?" She yapped, knowing full well it was prodding him.

He gave her a knowing look. "If you would rather do it yourself-"

"No, no," she started, shaking her head.

"Then," Sten pointed to the water which pooled by the lake edge.

Mahariel drew in another breath, then plunged her face into the cold waters. It was murky, and so she closed her eyes. She felt Sten's warmth as he moved over her. His strong fingers came to move in her hair, teasing at the blood dried in the knot till it leaked out into the water.

Her scalp was raw from where it had been agitated and pulled on, but he was gentle in his movements...precise, like when he would clean Asala.

When she couldn't hold her breath any longer, she pulled her head back up. He allowed her the movement, not keeping her down in any way. She took another deep breath before pushing her face into the water once more.

He tugged at the knots, and they came away surprisingly easily as the strands floated and the lake water soothed some of the pain.

When he was done, he cupped her forehead to pull her back out. Her hair flopped over her face, and as she ran her hands through it to push it backwards she found some of the stands were shorter but it was clean.

She blinked. It had been so easy. "Thank you, Sten. Ma suranas."

He kept his purple eyes on her as she rang out the white locks. She looked at him when he didn't move.

"Allow me to braid it," he said. "It will keep it out of your way during battle."

Mahariel blinked again. Half to get the water out, and half because she wasn't used to him being so forward. Not unless it involved challenging someone to a duel over command. Hadn't that been a tense time on the mountain hills of Haven. Or the time he'd asked Alistair to draw his sword.

She nodded her answer, and he gestured for her to head back to camp. Mahariel was too interested in how he would braid it to much care what the rest of them would say.

He followed her back, and sat behind her as she took one of the logs which were close together. Usually where Leiliana and Zevran sat at night.

"You fixed it!" Leiliana smiled, thinking herself free of guilt now.

"Sten did," Mahariel nodded, and she had to smile that the others had chosen to keep their mouths shut.

When Sten was around, they all seemed to take extra care not to tease and pester her. Oghren certainly didn't suggest to piss on her hair again. It wasn't that she minded the playful words they all shot at one another, it simply made her chuckle that Sten had become somewhat of a bodyguard - especially after she'd recovered his sword, part of his soul - and had earned the respectful term Kadan. Instead of Warden or elf, or woman.

He began to run his fingers through her hair again. Making sure the strands were straight and not caught together with water. Mahariel felt her shoulders relax almost instantly.

Her parents had been killed, she'd discovered, when she was only a babe. Her father by humans, and her mother by her own hand - walking off into nowhere. Ashalle had been the one to comb her hair when she was young, when she'd washed it or when she cried. It had become a comfort to her. Later, Tamlen had been the one to brush it, and braid it - an intimate act between two close friends, almost lovers.

Mahariel tried hard to keep the tears from her eyes.

"Look at her!" Alistair suddenly yelped. "You're being too hard, you're hurting her-" the older warden looked angrily to Sten who paused his fingers.

"Kadan?" He asked, leaning to reach her ear.

Mahariel wiped her eyes with both her hands. "No, I'm fine. Carry on Sten. I appreciate it."

Alistair looked sullen. As if she would allow Sten to hurt her for some reason. She decided to ignore him for the moment and instead concentrate on the movements of her giants fingers as he separated her hair, then began to plat them each. Keeping them tight as he did so.

She was disappointed when he stopped. Reluctantly she opened her eyes, turned to look at his neutral face before reaching a hand up to feel his handy work. There were three main sections, each braid traveling close to her head before they were tied off towards the end of her hair and the start of her shoulders.

It was like his, in the same style - if less braids. Hers were thicker, and she couldn't exactly remember giving him any of her ties. When she held the braid closest to her, she had to pull it over her high topped ear to see the end held a small leather band which was similar to his own.

"Do you want these back?" She found herself saying.

Sten took the braid from her fingers, looked her in the eye and said, "no," in his deep voice before placing the plat back over her ear. She did her best to hide the shiver as his fingers brushed the sensitive point.

He stood, and went over to his tent as she stared after him. A slight blush reached her cheek and ears as Zevran spoke.

"I'm surprised he gave you the same style. Usually he is reluctant to share any of his people's culture. Well, with those that aren't tied to them...under them. Whatever it is."

Leiliana smiled, "I am not surprised. Not at all. He is quite fond of our Warden," and Mahariel didn't miss the little knowing look in the rogues gaze. The warden felt her stomach drop.

"Leiliana," she asked, wide eyed. "Don't tell me you knew this would happen...that you, you planned this?"

The red haired rogue simply smiled sweetly, and Mahariel was left sitting rather stunned. She'd been played. The warden doubted Sten had had a hand in it, but it was for sure that Leiliana was up to her little match making games.

The warden shook her head, feeling the braids as they brushed her shoulders. She pursed her lips, and accepted the cup of tea Wynne handed her.

"You're still not off the hook," Mahariel muttered in the rogues direction. Even if she had been benefited by the outcome.

Leiliana simply laughed lightly, like a birds song. "You will thank me for it later, Hearon. Trust me."

And while Mahariel tried her best to ignore the rogue, and sip her calming tea before the days work began - the red head had been correct.

That night she sat by Sten, as he took on the nightly watch. It wasn't her shift, but she found herself drawn to him.

He raised an eyebrow at her, as if sensing she wanted to ask questions. Or maybe it was because she always asked questions.

She opened her mouth, to ask about the significance of the hair braids, but then decided better on it and just sat with him. Feeling heat both from his body, and the fire.

It was much later, after they'd been watching the stars above the tree line when she spoke. "Could you perhaps braid my hair again? I find it is rather helpful at keeping it out of my face, and no one has tried to grab for it as they did with my old style." She realised she was rambling, which he hated, but she glanced to find he had a warm smile on his face.

It startled her, but also sent a tingle down her spine and into her stomach.

"For you Kadan, I will do this."

It was enough for now. To have companionship in the dead of night. To know that he had shared a piece of his culture with her, willingly and without her having to give of herself in return.

It was enough that she might even forgive Leiliana. And the next morning as she woke from her bed roll, as she always did, she settled down next to her human friend and started to talk about interesting ways for Leiliana to wear her hair.

And whenever the days passed, when Mahariel undid her hair to wash it, Sten would come to her and braid her hair as he had done that day.

At least for a little while. The warden could be content. Until the day came when she would stare death in the face.


End file.
